"I get you," returned Winch gravely. And, by way of thoughtful acknowledgment of the justice of this thing, for Billy Winch, too, loved a horse, he muttered: "That's fair."
With the return of Ross and Peters, Winch gave them their orders, as a stern and dreaded head master might issue commands to a couple of his boys, securing unfailing and immediate obedience. For the one job of both Ross and Peters, and the one job which had been theirs for five or six years, was to do what they were told by Billy Winch and ask no questions, and look sharp that they did not seek to introduce any of their own and original ideas into the carrying out of his behests. For this they were paid by Timber-Wolf, who used them for many things, consigning matters of vital importance into their hands by way of Billy Winch's brains and tongue.
"Stand ready to hand me things when I ask for them, Dick," said Winch. He scrubbed his own hands with soap, and let Dick pitch the water from the basin out the window. Dick obeyed promptly, adding nothing of his own to the simple task beyond making sure that he pitched the whole basinful far out; far enough, in fact, to give a thorough wetting to one of the curious who had lingered outside, watching through the lighted window. "You, Charley," ran on Winch, "go down to where old Sunlight is, and stick there until me and Dick come out. His saddle and bridle ain't to be took off, and you'll have to keep your eye peeled some regular Big Pine citizen don't snake 'em, for their silver, under your eyes." Charley understood enough to do as he was told, and hurried out. "Now, Dick, stand by with them rags and warm water."
Winch went promptly to work, and, in his rough-and-ready fashion, did a good clean job of bandaging a simple wound. A raw wound like that must of necessity be intensely painful; yet Timber-Wolf's quiet and regular breathing never altered once, and not so much as the breadth of a hair did the muscular back flinch. They had just gotten the torn shirts lapped over into place and the coat thrown over Standing's shoulders, and his hat picked up from the floor for him, when a man walking heavily came down the hall and stopped at the door, knocking sharply.
"Who is it?" demanded Winch.
"It's me, Taggart. Is Standing all right?"
Bruce Standing himself, holding himself very erect, his head well up and his eyes cold and hard, opened the door.
"So the devil refused to take you, after all," he grumbled. "They had it reported that Deveril had killed you. At that, it looks as though he'd come close to doing a good job of it."
For Jim Taggart's face, too, was white, and there was a broad band about his head, stained in one spot near the left temple.
"The same kind thought rides double," rejoined Taggart, with a sudden flash of the eyes. "That wildcat of a girl came close to marking out your ticket to hell."